Page 50 of Better the Devil

‘Jack…’

‘I wasn’t asking for your permission, ma’am,’ Logan told her. He straightened and shoved his hands into his pockets, if only to stop himself bunching them into fists. ‘I’m bringing him in. That’s all there is to it.’

‘Obviously, I’m not giving you permission. With everything that happened, you can’t be considered objective in anything involving Bosco Maximuke,’ Mitchell said.

‘What the hell are you saying?’ Logan demanded.

Mitchell started to reply, then stopped and took a second to compose her thoughts.

‘I trust you. I trust your team. I trust you all to do the right thing. Not the easy thing. Not the thing that will satisfy some personal vendetta. The thing that will get results.’

‘Oh, I’ll get results alright.’

‘Results that will stick. Results that will ensure that the right person, the person responsible for the events of this case’—she prodded the desk with a finger—‘this case, not a historic one, will face justice for their actions.’

Logan opened his mouth to reply, but she spoke over him, shutting him down before he could say something he might regret.

‘If this road leads to Bosco Maximuke, or if I think your opinions on that man are clouding your judgement, then you can’t be involved in this investigation, Jack. You, DI Khaled, any of them. You just can’t be.’

The words hung there between them, souring the air.

‘So, do you want to send someone to arrest Bosco Maximuke on the basis that you don’t like him?’ she asked. Her eyes darted to the door. ‘Or do you want to go back out there, consider the evidence, and do your bloody job?’

The hubbubof the Incident Room descended into silence when Logan pushed through the doors.

For a moment, nobody spoke. Nobody dared. They all just waited for Logan to say something, but the DCI just stood there, a silent monolith with lines of worry carved across his brow.

Tyler, as usual, was the first to crack.

‘You alright, boss?’

Logan breathed. In. Out. Slow. Steady.

‘Sir?’ Sinead rose from her chair. ‘Everything OK?’

Logan looked across their faces and saw them, not as they were now, but as they were back then. Back in that room. Back with Owen Petrie and Bosco Maximuke.

Terrified. Helpless.

Just like he had been.

‘We’ve, eh, we’ve got something interesting, boss,’ Tyler said, tentatively inching the conversation along like he was stepping out onto a frozen loch. ‘That shooting, out by Forres. His name’s…’

He looked down at the paperwork on his desk.

‘Kendrick Crichton,’ Sinead said, taking the reins. ‘He’s connected to the Belov’s operation.’ She indicated the stacks of boxes on the desks and on the floor around them. ‘If you think this is a lot of paperwork, you should see what CID has got on him. We’d need a van for it.’

Logan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His stubble rasped as he ran a hand across his chin.

‘Let me guess. Stepped in to fill the gap left after Bosco Maximuke was sent down?’

‘Pretty much, aye,’ Dave Davidson confirmed. He held up a stack of notes. ‘CID has him pegged as one up the chain from Victor Belov, but they’ve got nothing concrete.’

‘And get this, boss.’ Tyler picked up his notepad and tapped it. His excitement was palpable. ‘He’s got a dog. A golden retriever. Guess what its name is.’

Logan didn’t get a chance to.

‘Goldie!’ Tyler cried. ‘His dog’s name is Goldie!’